


The Warrior Queen

by Jenksel



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Casskins, F/M, Fluff, Married Couple, Married Sex, Photography, Sexual Roleplay, Smut, do not repost to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:20:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25095238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenksel/pseuds/Jenksel
Summary: Cassandra entices Jenkins into a little role playing, and not the DND kind, either!  For the 2020 Librarians Prompt Month, the Cassandra/Jenkins prompt.
Relationships: Cassandra Cillian/Jenkins | Galahad
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15
Collections: The Librarians Prompt Month 2020





	The Warrior Queen

**Author's Note:**

> I realized it’s been a while since I’ve written any Casskins smut, so here you go! 😁

Jenkins opened the door to their suite of rooms and stretched out one long arm to turn pat the wall in search of the bedroom lights. He finally found the switch, and when the room was lit he stood to one side to allow Cassandra to enter the bedroom first.

"After you, my dear," he murmured, smiling down at her. Cassandra slipped into the room and immediately kicked her shoes off.

"Oh, my god, that feels _so_ good!" she sighed gratefully. Jenkins chuckled softly behind her as he closed the door. Cassandra arched backward, stretching her arms as wide as they would go as she yawned. When she was finished and upright again, she turned and gave Jenkins a quick peck on his cheek.

"I think I'm going to take a nice hot shower before I get ready for bed," she announced.

"I think I'll do a little reading in my room," the tall Caretaker said as he took off his suit coat and pulled his sapphire blue bow tie loose.

"Perfect!" chirped Cassandra enthusiastically. "I'll come and join you when I'm done!"

"If you like," replied Jenkins, somewhat puzzled by her eager tone. He almost asked her about it, but she was already in the bathroom, the door shut and water running, so he shrugged it off. He knew that Cassandra always liked to spend as much "snuggle time" with him as possible.

He passed into his sitting room and then straight to his dressing room to hang the coat in the closet and replace the tie in its drawer. He removed his suspenders next and put them away, then took off his shoes. He slid his own tired feet into a pair of comfortable slippers as he stripped off his dress shirt, but left the undershirt on. He next chose a dressing gown from the several he owned, a gown of thick burgundy silk with quilted lapels. He shrugged his arms into it and tied the sash snugly around his waist. As he walked back to his sitting room he rubbed his hand over the tense muscles in the back of his neck.

Jenkins started to head for the shelf-lined wall filled with books when his eye caught sight of a large manila envelope lying on the middle cushion of his leather sofa. Frowning, he diverted from the bookshelf and went to the sofa. He picked up the envelope and gave it a cursory examination; it was slightly heavy, containing what felt like a thick sheaf of papers inside. There was nothing on the outside of the envelope except a brief message, in Cassandra's distinctly feminine hand: _For Jenkins—Just for Fun!_

Perplexed, the immortal sat down on the sofa as he opened the flap of the envelope to slip his hand inside. He instantly recognized the feel of heavyweight paperstock, the kind used for photographs. He pulled out the contents of the envelope. They were indeed photographs. He turned them so that he could see them, and his eyes popped open wide at once. His jaw dropped in astonishment when he saw the first photograph, and the now-empty envelope slipped from his nerveless fingers to drop to the floor unheeded.

There, on top of the small stack of perhaps a dozen glossy photographs, was a three-quarters portrait of Cassandra, stark naked except for a multiple-strand necklace of perfect pearls around her ivory throat and down the front of her chest, and—most astounding —some carefully, artfully placed pieces of medieval armor.

Her crystalline blue eyes sparkled confidently as she stared boldly out of the photo, her vivid red hair done up in a classic Renaissance lady's hairstyle. Her delicate shoulders were covered by an intricately engraved set of Italian pauldrons, or shoulder guards, festooned with a pair gold-colored besagues—rondels of steel meant to protect the vulnerable armpit areas on a knight. The over-sized besagues—embossed to look like stylized flowers—fell low enough over her chest to just cover the nipples of her breasts, but fell short enough to leave a tantalizing glimpse of the rest of her plump breasts as they swelled enticingly from behind the edge of the rondels. In her hands she held the thick shaft of a jousting lance, both of her small fists tightly gripping the weapon _just_ suggestively enough as she gazed longingly at the weapon.

Jenkins stared at the photograph for several long moments, stunned. What on earth had possessed Cassandra to do... _this_? Yes, she was a beautiful woman, to be sure, but to pose like _this_! For _photographs_! Taken by a _stranger_! A strange _man_ , too, probably! Jenkins's awestruck gaze turned into a glower aimed at the picture. He was greatly displeased and troubled by the mental image of some degenerate cretin ogling _his_ Cassandra through a camera lens under the convenient excuse of merely taking photographs, thinking filthy thoughts about her the whole time.

He was soon distracted from his anger, however, by the gentle curve of his wife's right breast peeking from behind its besague like a shy maiden. Intrigued despite his misgivings, he began to carefully page through each of the other photographs in the stack, his hands trembling ever so slightly in unconscious anticipation.

There was a photograph of Cassandra lying on a lush bed of dark green grass, her eyes closed and her arms spread almost cruciform out from her sides, a Roman short-sword on the ground next to one hand, as if she were a soldier who had just fallen in battle, her long hair free and fanned out across the grass behind her head. Her breasts were completely bare, but an ancient Roman _cingulum militare_ , a narrow apron of long leather straps, was fastened around her waist. The metal-studded straps were positioned in such a way over her groin as to coyly hide her sex. Gladiator-style sandals were on her feet, their lacings snaking seductively up her long, slim calves.

All of the pictures were in a similar vein—Cassandra, completely nude except for some pieces of armor from different periods of history. In one photograph she was a Spartan warrior with a huge round shield, a long spear, and a Greek-style helmet pushed back on her head to reveal her face, its long red horsehair crest trailing down the length of her back and buttocks in lieu of her natural hair as she posed, frozen in the act of hurling the spear at an unseen enemy, her right leg posed just so in order to again hide her sex. In another portrait she was an Ancient Celt, her naked body covered with fine whorls and swirling patterns in blue paint meant to mimic the woad dye traditionally used by the ancient Celtic warriors. Her hair was done into several small braids that were then woven together on her head and festooned with feathers and beads. Hanging loosely around her svelte hips was a tiny skirt of faux rabbit fur. She leaned on a long wooden staff gripped tightly in both hands, her face resting on her hands, her head turned and making it appear that she was about to kiss the thick wood.

 _If only the_ _ **real**_ _Celts had been this attractive!_ he thought with wry amusement. As Jenkins continued to peruse the photos, he realized that he was feeling more than a little aroused by the exotic, erotic images of his wife.

The final photograph caught him by surprise. It showed Cassandra, clad only in a long scarlet cloak and a pair of knight's gauntlets, sitting bareback astride a snow-white horse against the backdrop of a foggy, early-morning field. The only tack on the hoarse was a simple leather bridle and reins, which Cassandra held in one steel-clad hand. In the other she clutched the hilt of a medieval longsword, the blade held high straight into the air over her head as though rallying her troops, a distant, heroic expression on her flawless face. The cloak was pulled back and dramatically draped over the horse's rump, gloriously revealing all of Cassandra's nude body, her round full breasts tipped with stiff, deliciously tempting points in the cool morning air. Her long hair was piled high on her head, and entwined in the mass of riotous red waves was the crown of the Queen of Sarras, part of the Crown Jewels of the now-lost kingdom that Jenkins had briefly ruled dozens of lifetimes ago. The light of the rising sun shone on her head, setting her hair ablaze in a russet halo, the gold and jewels of the crown sparking brilliantly amongst the soft curls like multicolored stars.

The image took his breath away. Jenkins had known many beautiful and powerful women in his long life, women over whom wars had been fought and countries destroyed, but this— _this_ was the woman who set his heart ablaze with desire. Cassandra was formidable and gentle, intelligent and vulnerable, courageous and demure, innocent and wise, all at the same time. She was a warrior and an scholar. She exuded sensuality and seductiveness that never crossed the line into cheap bawdiness. In short, she was the very embodiment of his ideal woman, and Jenkins felt his loins and lower belly burn hotly with want for her now.

"So what do you think?" a tentative voice asked from the doorway. Jenkins yelped as he jumped up from the sofa and spun toward the door, the photographs scattering onto the Turkish carpet at his feet. A flash of guilt inexplicably seized his gut, making him feel like a teenager who'd just been caught peeking through a neighbor woman's window as she undressed.

He sighed with relief when he saw it was Cassandra, but then he noticed what she was wearing: The same scarlet cloak that she was wearing in the last picture, only now it hid her body entirely from his sight. On her head was perched the crown of the Queen of Sarras, her shower-damp hair arranged to create a soft nest of curls for it to rest upon. As her blue eyes swept her husband's tall frame, Cassandra could tell by the feverish glaze in his dark brown eyes and the unmistakable bulge in the front of his robe that her husband had very much enjoyed the daring photographs.

Faced with her knowing smile, Jenkins stooped to quickly gather up the photos and fussily arrange them in a neat stack on the coffee table in front of the sofa. While he tried to distract himself, Cassandra entered his room, stepping carefully so as not to reveal more of her body that was absolutely necessary. She caught him casting a sideways glance at her and at her bare legs and feet as she approached him.

 _He's wondering if I'm naked underneath this cloak!_ she thought with satisfaction. Jenkins straightened and faced her, keeping his eyes down as he nervously cleared his throat.

"Cassandra!" he greeted her. "The photographs…they…you… What I mean is…" He struggled for the right words to use, his eyes flicking between her face and the floor several times. He finally forced himself to look her in the eyes, and then he couldn't tear his gaze from her.

"You're so beautiful!" he whispered, his expression becoming intense and hungry. Cassandra smiled and shyly looked down for a moment. When she looked up again, there was a playful sparkle in her round blue eyes.

"Is that how you pay homage to your queen?" she asked archly, raising her chin as she tried her best to look insulted and regal. She saw the corners of his mouth twitch ever so slightly as a smile played on the immortal's face. Without warning, Jenkins stepped forward and knelt on one knee, bowing his white head low while gracefully spreading his long arms out from his sides like wings.

"I beg your forgiveness, my Lady Queen!" he murmured contritely. "How does Your Majesty wish me to pay proper homage?" Cassandra had to bite her lower lip to keep from bursting into laughter.

"I want you to kiss my foot!" she ordered him imperiously, like a spoiled child. She poked one small, dainty foot from beneath the hem of her cloak, her toenails painted the same shade of red as the cloak itself.

Without missing a beat, Jenkins brought his large hands forward to gently take her foot into them and lift it from the floor. He lowered his head and softly kissed her small toes. He then moved to kiss the top of her foot, then her ankle. With one hand he held her foot as he moved up the inside of her calf, while his other hand slipped beneath the cloak to run slowly up the back of her leg and thigh, coming to rest on her round, firm buttock. His kisses stopped at her knee and he looked up into her shining eyes.

"I am at your... _service_ , Lady," he said in a low, sultry voice that set a thousand butterflies loose in Cassandra's belly. "How may I serve you?" The "queen" reached down to take his face in her hands; she was wearing the gauntlets from the picture on them.

"Are you my loyal knight?" she asked, only partly teasing now as she gazed down into the handsome, proud face of her husband.

"I am your _most_ loyal knight, Lady, and my _sword_ is ever yours!" he fervently declared, turning his head to kiss one of her palms before returning his burning gaze to her. "You have only to command me!"

"Then I command you to pick me up, take me to the bed, and ravish me!" she answered huskily.

Jenkins was instantly on his feet. He swept her up into his strong arms and in a handful of long-legged strides, carried her to their bed. He laid her down on it gently, then quickly stripped off his remaining clothes, his wolfish eyes never leaving her the entire time. When he was completely naked, he climbed into the bed and straddled Cassandra. He leaned over and slowly undid the clasp on the cloak and opened it, spreading it out and over the bedding like a blanket. As he suspected, Cassandra wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing—except for the pair of gauntlets. The cold, hard-edged steel of the gauntlets contrasted starkly with the soft, warm curves of Cassandra's body. The effect was jarring to Jenkins, but he also found it strangely arousing at the same time.

Jenkins knelt over his temptress queen and began covering her body with hungry kisses, his hands caressing her arms, her sides, her hips and thighs as he slowly and deliberately kissed, nipped and licked his way over her belly, her breasts, her throat. He slipped one hand between her legs as his lips found her mouth, and he kissed her passionately while his long fingers busied themselves with teasing her sex and wandering deep into her hot, wet interior. Cassandra writhed slowly under him, her soft seductive cries and moans serving to inflame the knight's desire. With all of his might, Jenkins focused his entire attention on pleasuring his queen, and it took every last scrap of his self-discipline to keep his scorching lust in check.

At last, the panting woman gripped Jenkins's biceps as she arched her back, her buttocks rising from the bed as she pressed herself against his probing hand, crying out his name as ecstasy overwhelmed her.

"Take me, Galahad! Take me!"

Without even waiting for him to respond, she seized his taut, hot manhood and pulled him down to her, frenziedly guiding him into her. The metal of the gauntlet felt like ice on his feverish skin, and the strange and alien sensation of her gauntleted fingers was unnerving, but did nothing to cool his ardor. As soon as he was at her entrance, he grabbed her arms and roughly pushed them over her head, held them pinned there by her steel-clad wrists as he pushed himself into her. He groaned loudly as the incredible sensation of her sex greedily grasping at him sent him into a delirium of bliss. He thrust wildly into her like a rutting stag, his hands gripping her wrists, kissing her mouth and throat in between his loud panting and bestial grunts. Cassandra wrapped her legs loosely around his waist and playfully kicked her heels into his buttocks with each thrust, breathlessly calling out his name and begging him to go harder, faster; _harder, faster_!

His orgasm struck like a warhammer. Jenkins cried out wordlessly and continued to ram himself into her a few more times, until his arms trembled and suddenly became too weak to hold him up. One final stroke and he stopped, remaining within her as he let his upper body drop onto his elbows, his body resting lightly over hers. As he recovered his senses, he dizzily kissed, nibbled and nuzzled the tender skin of Cassandra's neck and shoulders.

"I love you!" he breathed again and again before raising his head to look into her clear blue eyes. He dropped his head to kiss her mouth, his teeth lightly biting her plump lips, his tongue slipping teasingly against hers as they played together. When the kiss ended, he reached up and tugged the gauntlets from Cassandra's hands and tossed them across the room. He slid his arms underneath her body and pulled her snugly to himself, then, still joined to her, he rolled them over onto their sides and began cuddling her. He buried his nose into her flower-scented hair and breathed deeply, while Cassandra wriggled her body against his to fit herself to him.

"Have I pleased you, my Lady Queen?" he asked softly before kissing the side of her head. Cassandra sighed happily and then giggled quietly.

"It'll do, I suppose," she pouted dramatically, idly running one small hand over the side of his narrow hip and his thigh. "Although next time I think I'd like to see you in a loincloth."

"A _loincloth_?" he snorted, incredulous, and a little scandalized.

"Yes, a very tiny one. Like a galley slave," she confirmed in a petulant tone. "The next time you approach me, I want to see you dressed as a galley slave!" She felt the immortal's body stiffen ever so slightly, heard a soft intake of breath, and instantly she realized what she'd just said: She'd just asked a man who had once _actually_ been a slave to play dress-up as a slave for her amusement. Mortified, she pulled herself out of his arms and sat up, twisting her body around to look at him

"Oh! Oh, Jenkins! I'm sorry!" she exclaimed. She fell onto him, slipped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. Her hands brushed the horrible scars on his back—scars from a lashing he'd received from a man who had once owned Jenkins many centuries ago.

"It's all right, my love," he said quietly as he recovered from his shock, wrapping his arms around her. "I know you meant no harm."

"That's no excuse!" she retorted. "It was stupid and insensitive! Me, of all people—I should know better!" She pushed herself upright again. "Can you ever forgive me?"

"Of course I can," he said kindly, staring up at her steadily. He reached up to lay a hand on the side of her face and brushed her cheek with his thumb. "Think no more about it."

"But—" Cassandra began to protest, but Jenkins moved his hand to place his fingers over her lips.

"Perhaps there's something else I can dress up as that my Lady Queen would find…appealing?" he offered mildly, reassuring her that he wasn't upset by her faux pas. Cassandra smiled and dropped her head bashfully as she considered her options. A few seconds later she looked up, her blue eyes shining with excitement.

"How about…Jon Snow?" Jenkins frowned in puzzlement and cocked his head.

"And who, pray tell, is Jon Snow?" he asked warily.

In answer, the Librarian rolled over to pluck her cell phone from the nightstand. After a quick online search, she turned the phone around to show him a picture of a tall, dark-haired warrior dressed in layers of impressive black armor and furs, a massive longsword hanging from a belt around his waist.

"Jon Snow is a character in 'Game of Thrones'—you know, that show we've been watching on TV," she answered dreamily. "He's the commander of a very elite guard unit; he's handsome and brave and _soooo_ sexy!" Jenkins looked askance at her.

"But he's not as sexy as _you_ are, of course!" she hurried to assure him. "In fact, the only reason I think he's sexy is because he reminds me so much of you! And then I start to imagine what it would be like if _you_ were Jon Snow, and then one thought leads to another and then to another and, well...you know!" She dropped her eyes, suddenly embarrassed to be confessing such a thing to her husband. "And the truth is, I would _love_ to be able to strip off all of those layers of clothes, all the way down a teeny tiny loincloth—and then rip off the loincloth!" Her eyes went round in startlement as Jenkins burst into laughter, but she quickly realized that it wasn't in mockery.

"Don't laugh at me! I'm your queen!" she scolded him with mock outrage, relieved that he wasn't upset with her or her fantasy. Jenkins threaded the fingers of his hand into her mass of pinned red curls and gripped it tightly as he pulled her down to halt her demands with a long, passionate kiss. When he finally let her go again, Cassandra was panting lightly and lightheaded.

"My love," he cooed indulgently as he nuzzled her cheek and ear. "If it's a Jon Snow you want, then a Jon Snow you shall have!"

"Really?" she exclaimed, surprised by his agreeableness to such an outlandish request.

"Of course, my Queen," he purred.

"I was just kidding, you know; I mean, I know how uncomfortable something like that would make you..." she said hesitantly, afraid to hope that her staid, serious knight would actually be willing to dress up as a television character for her.

"If it's just between the two of us, I think I would be all right with a bit of role play," he answered amiably. "But no photography!"

"Even if it's just _me_ taking the pictures?" she huffed dramatically with a pretty pout. She knew she was pushing her luck, but the first hour after sex was usually the best time to ask Jenkins for all things outlandish. "And after I had all of those pictures made just for you!" Jenkins laughed again and gave her a tight hug.

"I suppose that this _is_ a case of 'what's good for the goose is good for the gander'," he rumbled gently into her ear, and he felt her grin widely against the skin of his chest in response. "But you have to promise me that you will _never_ breathe a word of this to anyone else!" he warned sternly.

"Never!" she promptly agreed, ecstatic at having been able to coax her very reserved husband into the "scandalous" worlds of sexual roleplay and boudoir photography at the same time and with so little effort. "I swear—wild horses won't be able to drag it out of me!"

"Which reminds me..." He sat up suddenly, his brow furrowed in concern.

"Who took _your_ pictures?" he asked warily. "I don't think I like the idea of a strange man taking such... _intimate_ photographs of my wife!" Cassandra giggled again and snuggled against his chest. _There_ was the oh-so-proper Jenkins she knew and loved.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, the photographer was a woman," she answered. Jenkins was quiet for a moment, reassured by her answer, but suddenly he pulled his arms from around her and sat up.

"A strange woman could've seduced you just as easily as a strange man!" he declared, his brows knit together in discontent. Cassandra laughed at his serious expression and tugged on his arm, inviting him to lie down again.

"True, but _you're_ my most loyal knight," she murmured, her drooping eyes full of love for him only. Jenkins lay down next to her and took her into his arms again.

" _Always_ , my little warrior queen," he murmured adoringly, and tenderly kissed her head as she drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This doc was inspired by The paintings of Mexican artist Ricardo Fernández Ortega. You can see examples of his work at this website: https://wooarts.com/ricardo-fernandez-ortega/


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